


Core and Rind

by sevenfists



Series: Weight and Motion [3]
Category: Firefly, Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-29
Updated: 2007-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-19 06:30:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10634214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfists/pseuds/sevenfists
Summary: Five times Mal Reynolds failed to talk about his emotions.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For destina.

**One.**  
The dishes were dirty again, piled up in the sink and still crusted with last night's miso sauce. Mal yanked the chore list off the cabinet and scanned down the rows—sure enough, Dean was on kitchen clean-up, and shirking his duties again.

"Dean!" he bellowed.

Zoe lifted her head from her coffee mug. "It's too early for that, sir."

"Boy can't even wash the gorram dishes," Mal said.

"He's probably still sleeping," Zoe said dryly.

"Well, I ain't washin' them," Mal said.

"Nobody asked you to," Zoe said, and sipped her coffee.

They were two days out from Meadowgreen, the hold crammed full of hydroponics equipment, and Mal was getting nervous about River's little detour. She'd sworn to him that it'd cut half a day off their trip, but she had a known inclination toward making Mal sweat, and he didn't want any fancy surprises that involved them being late for the drop. He wandered toward the cockpit, intending just to have a little look-see and make sure River wasn't leading them too far astray.

The ship was quiet, most everyone but him and Zoe still sleeping the sleep of the mildly hungover—a sleep that Mal dearly wished he was sleeping too, but duty called, and he had errant crew members who needed to learn how to wash the _tiansha de_ dishes.

He was halfway into the room before he noticed Dean sitting at the Cortex console, and he let out a loud bark of surprise, his feet drawing him backward a step.

"You shriek like a girl," Dean said, not looking up.

"Shouldn't go sneakin' up on people like that," Mal grumbled. "Why are you in here when my dishes still ain't clean?"

"Will you chill out about the freakin' dishes?" Dean said. "Jesus Christ. I'll do them in a minute, okay?"

"This ship ain't a free ride, boy, we all got to do our part—"

"God, shut up," Dean said.

"Don't talk smart to me," Mal said. "What are you lookin' at, anyway?" He leaned over Dean's shoulder, peering at the screen. Dean moved to close the window down, but it was too late—Mal had already seen the text on the screen, the "Sam Winchester" and the "No results found," in brightly-colored English and Chinese.

"Don't fuckin' say anything," Dean said, hunching his shoulders.

Mal forgot, sometimes, that Dean had lost things, that he was half a millenium away from home with no way back that Mal knew of. He tried to think of something comforting to say, offer a bit of sympathy—"Go wash the dishes," he said.

"Thanks for the helpful advice, Dr. Phil," Dean said. He touched the screen again and it went dark.

"My name ain't Phil," Mal said.

"Yeah, you know what," Dean said. "I'm aware of that."

 

 **Two.**  
The day after it happened, Mal's skin felt prickly all over, like somebody was doing enthusiastic acupuncture on his whole body. He couldn't stop thinking about Dean coming apart against him, his hands on Dean's hipbones, Dean thrusting raggedly into Mal's mouth.

He'd lain with other boys, growing up on Shadow, but that was years past, and it surprised him how readily his throat had opened up, every old skill coming back to him like there hadn't been decades and a thousand ports of harbor in between.

"Wait," Dean had said, and then, "Yeah, yeah, just like that, _fuck_."

It meant nothing— _beng guo_ , just letting off some steam. Dean was too pretty, that red mouth of his, and careless with his body, like he didn't care who looked at it. Mal looked. He couldn't help himself.

Somehow he found himself playing cards with Dean and Jayne, the three of them hunched over a crate in the cargo bay, and Mal paying far more attention to the way Dean chewed on his lower lip than to the hand he was dealt.

"Say, 'I'm a fat _chou biao zi_ ,'" Jayne said, smirking at his cards.

"No," Dean said. "How fuckin' dumb do you think I am? What does that mean, that I've got one nut or somethin'?"

"It means you're a stinkin' whore," Jayne said. "You gonna give me another card or just sit there like a little schoolgirl?"

"Here's your goddamn card," Dean said, throwing it down on the crate.

Mal shuffled his cards around in his hand.

"All right, ladies, I raise ya twenty," Jayne said.

"Where'd you get that sort of money," Mal said.

" _Mai doufu_ ," Dean said, and Mal had to hide his grin behind his free hand.

"Mal, he's callin' me a boy whore," Jayne whined.

"You're sure complainin' like one," Mal said. "Where's the money."

Jayne tossed down his cards. "I don't gorram have it, all right? I fold."

"He's all bark," Dean said to Mal.

"He ain't ever been real bright," Mal replied. "Think his ma dropped him a few too many times as a baby."

"Don't you talk about my ma," Jayne said, scowling.

"Nobody's talkin' about your mom, Jayne," Dean said. "Are you in or out?"

"I'm out," Jayne said. He stood up. "You girls have fun with your ruttin' card game."

"I appreciate the good wishes," Mal said.

Jayne stomped off, muttering. The man was like a prize stud bull—big, burly, and dumb as a sack of potatoes.

"It's just you and me," Dean said, and there was something in his eyes that Mal didn't like, a certain glimmer of heat. He looked _knowing_ , was what it was. He looked like he knew something that Mal, despite himself, sorely wanted to learn.

"I call," Mal said.

Dean had three kings, and he grinned wide and white when he fanned them out over the crate's plastic surface.

"Did you cheat?" Mal asked.

"Nope," Dean said. "You just got your ass beat, that's all. Fork it over."

"Best two out of three," Mal said, and frowned when Dean's mouth twisted. "What is it."

"Nothing," Dean said. "Best two."

Mal leaned forward, abandoning his cards. "Look," he said. Shipboard foolishness always got complicated. Mal was the captain; he couldn't afford being distracted, or letting favoritism weigh in on his decisions. "I don't—"

"Can it," Dean said. "Whatever you're gonna say, I don't wanna hear it. You've got three choices: you can admit defeat, you can shut up and play, or we can go back to my bunk and you can blow me."

"Number three ain't an option," Mal said. "You can't just—"

Dean rolled his eyes and leaned in, his mouth catching at the corner of Mal's jaw, seemingly random but sending a shiver up Mal's spine nonetheless.

" _Chuo_ ," Mal said, turning his head aside.

"I don't know what the fuck that means," Dean said, biting at Mal's earlobe.

"It means stop," Mal said, but his hand was cupping Dean's chin, tilting their mouths together, and Mal forgot every gorram language he knew, after that.

 

 **Three.**  
"His birthday's tomorrow," River said. "He'll be twenty-nine years old."

"I knew that," Mal said.

River sighed hugely, like she was some wise old lady and Mal had her at her wits' end. "No, you didn't," she said.

"Don't you get testy with me, little girl," Mal said.

She ignored him, busy spinning slow circles in her chair. "You should get him a birthday present," she said.

"I don't know who you're talking about," Mal said.

"Malcolm Reynolds, you are abominable," River said.

"You need to respect your gorram elders," Mal said, and punched irritably at the nav computer.

"Kaylee's making him a cake," River said. "With icing. And candles."

"No presents," Mal said.

"We _always_ do cake," River said. "For crew. He's crew now."

"I reckon so," Mal said. He'd had more than enough of this particular conversation. "I got to go check on the cargo. You just...keep on steerin'."

"Yes sir," River said, the way she did when she was feeling real smart-alecky. Mal was inclined to blame it on Dean's bad influence.

Dean was lying on the floor of the kitchen, playing with Miriam while Kaylee mixed something in a big bowl. "Here comes the airplane!" Dean said, and made a buzzing noise. Miriam burbled happily, cradled there against Dean's bent knees.

Mal stepped over them both on his way to the freezer. "This is not a gorram nursery school," he said, ignoring the familiar twist in his belly at the sight of Dean loving Kaylee's baby, like he'd given in to belonging on Mal's crew.

"Come over here and say that," Dean said. "I'm teachin' Miriam how to puke on cue."

"You lettin' him do this?" Mal asked Kaylee.

She giggled. "Long as she don't puke on _me_ , I guess I don't mind much."

"Kaylee's making me a cake. With real flour. And strawberry frosting," Dean said.

"Is that so," Mal said. He pulled open the freezer. "We got any of those fruit things left?"

"Nope," Kaylee said. "Zoe ate the last one this mornin'."

" _Bu yao lian_ ," Mal said. "She's gettin' demoted."

"All you ever do is bitch," Dean said. He clambered to his feet, Miriam tucked snugly in the crook of one arm.

"No fightin'," Kaylee said. She poured the bowl out into a flat pan and shoved it in the oven. "There," she said. "It's got to cook for ten minutes."

"Can we eat it soon?" Dean asked.

Kaylee laughed. "Not until dinner!" She lifted Miriam out of Dean's arms and settled the baby in the cloth sling hanging around her neck. "Don't you touch that oven, now."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Mal said.

Kaylee wandered off toward the engine room, making cooing noises at the baby.

"So," Mal said. He cleared his throat. "Your birthday."

"Yeah," Dean said. "That thing that happens once a year?"

"I know what it is," Mal said, scowling.

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's just a fuckin' birthday, Mal. All it means is that I'm a year older. I didn't even want Kaylee to make a cake, but you know how she gets—"

"I should've got you somethin'," Mal said.

"Yeah, like what," Dean said, and huffed with laughter.

"That's what folk do, ain't it? Give each other nice presents all wrapped up in fancy paper?"

Dean leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed. "You know what I did for my birthday last year? I did shots with my brother until we couldn't see straight, and then I fucked the bartender in the back seat of my car." He smirked. "She was fuckin' hot, too, these little titties—"

"That's enough," Mal said. He stepped in, grabbing at Dean's hips. "I don't know why you think—"

"I'm _saying_ that I don't want nothin' but your _xiao didi_ ," Dean drawled, and started working at Mal's belt.

Mal got his hands underneath Dean's shirt and slid them up Dean's back, his calluses dragging against hard muscle. "I could get you a knife," he said. "Some hair ribbons."

"You're a jerk," Dean said, and shoved one hand into Mal's trousers.

"Get a room!" Jayne bellowed, clomping into the kitchen.

" _Fuck_ ," Mal said, and Dean started laughing, loud and raucous, his head thrown back; and there were a million things Mal wanted to tell him, but instead he did up his pants and headed down the corridor toward his bunk. Dean followed.

 

 **Four.**  
Afterward, Mal couldn't remember why he'd agreed to it; maybe it was how happy Kaylee looked, or the way she'd fluttered her eyelashes at him—whatever it was, he'd told her he would, and Mal did his gorram best to not go back on his word.

"We're watchin' the baby," he told Dean.

Dean looked back over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. "What's this 'we' you're talkin' about?"

"Kaylee wants to go dancing. With Simon."

"Yeah, no kidding," Dean said. "So you volunteered us for babysitting?"

"Somethin' like that," Mal said. "Are those pancakes almost ready?"

"You're lucky if I give you any," Dean said, wielding the spatula.

"You like the baby," Mal pointed out. He tipped his chair back on two legs, his hands braced against the table top. They'd picked up some frozen blueberries in Two Rivers, and Mal had been hoping for pancakes all week, dropping unsubtle hints every time Dean was anywhere near the kitchen.

"Fine, so I like the baby," Dean said. He turned off the burner and came over to the table, a plate balanced on each palm. "When are we supposed to watch her?"

"Tonight," Mal said. He took his plate from Dean and reached for the butter.

"Huh," Dean said.

Simon and Kaylee left that evening in a flurry of fancy clothes and Kaylee's perfume, Simon pink-cheeked and irritable after River insisted upon re-doing his tie three times.

"You look beautiful, Doc," Dean said, smirking, Miriam held securely in his arms.

"Next time, _you're_ going out with her," Simon muttered.

"Simon, come on!" Kaylee called, already halfway down the lowered ramp, and Simon said, "Duty calls," and followed after.

"Well," Dean said, and bumped Mal with his hip. "Guess it's just you and me."

"Looks like," Mal said. The ship was quiet—Jayne out whoring, and Zoe and River already having wandered out of the hold, back to whatever it was they occupied themselves with. "I can't say I've ever done this before."

"What, babysit?" Dean grinned. "I spent the first two years of high school makin' out with chicks while they were babysitting. We'd wait until the kid fell asleep, and then pull out the sofa bed and have at it. Goddamn. I got my first blowjob from Tiffany Smalls in the Petersons' rec room. I think that was the SNL episode about the killer bats."

"You realize I understood about half of that," Mal said.

"Yeah, but that's okay," Dean said, "you're pretty enough to make up for it."

"Dee-dee," Miriam said, patting at Dean's shoulder.

"I know, sugar dumplin'," Dean said, kissing her face. "You want dinner? Time for bed?"

" _Fei_ ," Miriam said, and Dean obediently lifted her high above his head and made buzzing sounds with his mouth, swooping her around in figure eights.

"She'll be spoiled," Mal said.

"That's the idea," Dean said.

They finished off the leftovers from dinner, standing over the kitchen counter and eating straight out of the containers. Dean fed Miriam bits of squash and carrots. She started fussing after a while, rubbing at her eyes, and Dean went to put her down while Mal ran the dishes through the washer.

"You know what time it is now, right?"

Mal turned his head—Dean was standing in the doorway, his shirt untucked. "Reckon you ought to remind me," Mal said.

"Now's when we watch SNL and make out on the couch," Dean said.

"Is the baby asleep?" Mal asked.

"Christ, _yes_ , she's asleep," Dean said. "You're worse than Simon. You love that baby, Mal, quit tryin' to act like you don't."

"She's okay," Mal said gruffly.

"I'm gonna stage a fuckin' baby intervention and make you hold her until you admit to the goddamn love in your heart or whatever," Dean said. "Go lie on the couch."

"I don't take orders from you," Mal said.

"You want me to suck you or not? Go lie on the fucking couch," Dean said, already unfastening his pants, and so Mal went.

 

 **Five.**  
"It's only for a few days," Simon said.

Mal shook his head. "I don't like it."

"Yes, you've made that abundantly clear," Simon said. "I still think she needs to go."

"What, and go talk to some other gorram psychic—she's liable to come back talkin' about little green men with four heads or somethin'—"

"This girl was with her at the Academy," Simon said. "It's important for her to reconnect with someone who shared her experiences."

" _Cao ni zuzong shiba dai_ , fine, she can go," Mal said, and turned back to the crate he was doing inventory on. "Now quit botherin' me about it."

"I'd like Dean to go with her," Simon said.

"Absolutely not," Mal said. "We got a job, and I need him for it."

"You're delivering fabric," Simon said.

"That's my point," Mal said. "Need him for the job."

" _Honestly_ , Mal. Just take Jayne and Zoe with you, it's not like you'll be doing anything dangerous—"

"You want someone to go with her so bad, why don't you go."

"I have a ten-month-old," Simon said. "And aside from that, I thought you wouldn't let me."

"I won't," Mal snapped. "Need you here for doctorin', if anything happens."

"So let Dean go with her," Simon said. The boy was gorram persistant, and Mal just knew he wouldn't get any peace until he gave in to Simon's demands.

" _Fine_ ," Mal said. "Fine, she can go, and she can take Dean with her, now will you please go irritate someone else for a while? I got fifteen crates of brocade to go through."

He broke the news to Dean that evening.

"Yeah, River already asked me," Dean said. "I'll help unload the cargo first, and then we'll take off."

Mal frowned. "My own crew runnin' around behind my back—"

"Dude, you lost control of this ship a long time ago, you need to accept it and move on," Dean said, and shoveled some more rice into his mouth.

" _Bi zui_ ," Mal said. "We got any more of those pickles?"

It was cold on Bai Li, winter just setting in. Mal got up before sunrise and called Megan to have her send out the transport. He woke Dean and Jayne, and they unloaded the crates as the sun rose, their breath forming heavy clouds in the air.

"Ruttin' cold here," Jayne grumbled.

"It builds character, you pussy," Dean said.

"Reckon Jayne's got too much character already," Mal said, and heaved the last of the crates onto the transport.

Zoe was up by then, sitting on a crate in the cargo bay and sipping her coffee. "We ready to go, sir?" she called.

"Looks like," Mal answered. "Dean. You watch out for River. Don't let her get up to any trouble."

"I won't," Dean said.

Mal thought about kissing him, but then Zoe came down the ramp and joined Jayne on the transport, and then Jayne was saying, "Let's get movin'," and Mal was climbing onto the transport and they were trundling away, and then it was too late.

It was the longest three days of Mal's life. The job went off fine; Megan was pleased with the fabric, and handed over their take, no trouble. Mal knew there was a reason he liked the woman. So they had money, then, and a week to spend in a town that wasn't up to Core standards but wasn't a one-horse outpost, either. Everyone was happy—Jayne with his whores, Kaylee with time to fix her engine, Zoe going all domestic and cooking things with spices and fresh vegetables—and Mal figured he ought to be happy too, but his crew was short, and he felt it like a gut wound.

"What day they coming back," he asked Simon.

"Tomorrow," Simon said, dandling the baby. "It's going to be fine, Mal. It's a very safe planet, and—"

"Who said I was worried," Mal said. "Just want to head on to the next job."

"Of course," Simon said. Miriam grabbed at his hair and he winced, and tickled the bottoms of her little feet.

The third day, Mal invented tasks that would keep him in the cargo bay. Zoe eventually took pity on him and had him clean all her guns. He was in the middle of doing that when he heard voices, and stood up to see River and Dean approaching the ship.

River ran up the ramp, her hair streaming out behind her. "Captain! We're back!" she called.

"I can see that," Mal said. "How was the—"

"I have a new dress!" River said. "And a toy for the baby!"

Mal's mouth twitched. He hadn't seen River so excited in quite some time. "I take it things went well."

"Lucy and I went shopping every day!" River said. She turned in a circle, and her skirt flared out. "Where's Simon? I want to show him my things."

"Med bay, I reckon," Mal said, and watched, bemused, as River skipped out of the hold. The way she acted most of the time, it was easy to forget that she was still a child; it made Mal glad to see her doing girlish things.

"She's been like that the whole time," Dean said, and Mal turned to watch him mounting the ramp. "The girl's a handful." He grinned, unbuttoned his coat.

"It's good you went with her," Mal said.

"Ran me fuckin' ragged," Dean said. "Permission to come aboard, sir?"

Mal raised his eyebrows.

"Never mind," Dean said, rolling his eyes. He dropped his coat on one of the crates and stepped forward, leaning in to kiss Mal. "You glad I'm back?"

"Reckon I might be," Mal said.

"What a warm welcome this is," Dean said. "You think Zoe'll make me some lunch if I ask nice?"

"She might," Mal said. He scratched his chin. "Dean. Look. I know I ain't always good at, uh, talkin' about things, but I want you to know that I—that you—"

"Hey," Dean said, and he was smiling. "I know."  



End file.
